It is our first full day as a newly formed family of five, waking in our own beds and juggling the morning family chaos in our sleep-deprived but contented way. It is Friday, and whilst we have no commitments that can't be put to one side, we are keen to keep to the older children's usual weekly routine if we can. Conscious of not wanting them to feel that they would miss out on their things and the potential resulting resentment towards their baby brother, but also knowing that their usual routine provided them with entertainment, so we wouldn't have to conjure up or provide additional activities for them. It was what we knew, and therefore an easier option for us to follow. Besides, with Jason now on paternity leave, there were two of us to manage it all, something I knew I would be doing in a couple of week's time on my own.
Lucy had been collected by a friend and taken to her Friday nursery session, so we only had the boys with us. The troublesome duo, who would grow up together, as thick as thieves, keeping us on our toes as parents, but also supporting and encouraging each other in a way that brothers do. With the small age gap between them, I knew it wouldn't be long until Thomas would be giving Oliver a run for his money and Oliver wouldn't remember a time before Thomas. They would be able to share the highs and lows of their childhoods, their lives entwined and with an unbreakable bond, which would see them through to their adulthoods. Yes, I knew they would squabble, argue and fight, but being boys, I anticipated that these moments would be short-lived and quickly forgotten. They would have each other's backs and become the very best of friends. My time with the two of them together at home would dominate my foreseeable future, with Lucy currently at nursery for three days a week and to be starting school the following September, this would only increase. My weekdays for the next few years would be focused on the two of them, juggling their needs, trying to encourage and nurture their relationship, as well as trying to find ways to spend time with each of them on an individual basis.
On Friday mornings, I would take Oliver to a class called Action Kids, where the toddlers and preschoolers would join in fun games and develop their macro skills. Thomas was to be coming along each week with Oliver and me, watching from the sidelines, until he was stable enough on his own two feet to join in with his brother. I knew how quickly that time would come around, possibly slightly earlier, with any desire to be like his big brother. That's where we headed with Thomas that morning. Thomas was awake and taking it all in - the amplified echoey sounds of a big sports hall, filled with young children, having fun together, as well as enjoying all the attention he was getting. Part way through the lesson, I stopped to feed him and, whilst sat at the side, I was able to take a moment to imprint it all, this perfect dream I was living.
After Thomas died, one of the things with which I have struggled in my grief has been Oliver's loss, on many levels. The most difficult one being the loss of their relationship and the promise of his best friend. I feel that he has been cheated from what he had, from their future together, and that he doesn't deserve to have had that taken from him so young. In the past couple of years or so, Oliver has become more aware of what should have been and how that has impacted his life. His bond with Samuel is fantastic, and so, for him, the thought of another brother, one that would be closer in age and therefore with slightly more understanding and common ground, has been brilliant. He has often talked about how he wishes that Thomas was able to join in with their games, knowing that Jason and I, as parents, only have two hands, so one of them would always get away. A mischievous gang that would know how to play the system and would share the bond of brotherhood.
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